Latter-Day Blues
by KnightNight7203
Summary: "Our rules can change too, guys. I really don't think anything bad will happen if we let a few of those things slide — I mean, who here is going to care now?" In which the Church washes its hands of the Uganda mission, leaving a bunch of confused, abandoned boys who are unaccustomed to freedom in its wake.
1. Chapter 1

The second-most stressful, chaotic day of Connor's life ends, a little anticlimactically, just like any other.

The mission president drives away toward Kampala in a puff of smoky exhaust and the choked roar of a rusty truck motor — never, if his gut feeling is correct, to return. The general and his cronies disappear from the village once more, all traces of their presence gone save for the nervous looks the villagers give the road out of town, and the occasional bursts of furious machine gun fire echoing over the horizon. Whether they will return is a little less certain, but Connor prays to Heavenly Father that they'll move on to others who are easier to bully.

(Of course, then he feels bad for wishing misfortune on someone else, and starts to worry that the warlord will come back specifically to punish him for such thoughts. That's just the way he thinks, though. He's used to expecting catastrophic retribution for the things that go on in his mind — it's something he's trying to work on.)

The new converts put away the props from their show — which was masterfully implemented, the theatrical side of Connor has to admit, despite the horrifying content. They stick around to chat for a while, and the elders reassure them that their performance was appreciated even though that couldn't be further from the truth. But finally the villagers turn in for the night, and elders are left to return to their hut in tense, uncertain silence. It's the same building, filled with the same people. They're still together, and they can still do … _something_ here.

And yet, things feel different somehow.

The boys themselves are slightly droopy, walking with slow, labored steps through the door to collapse in the main room. They're exhausted, both from the long week — okay, the long three months — in Africa and the stress of the Ugandans' performance and the final confrontation with the General. Connor knows knows he already had horribly dark circles under his own eyes even before the rough day — he hasn't slept through the night in weeks. If asked he'd blame the stress of their environment, but his hell dreams have been steadily worsening as well since the arrival of … well, since all the baptisms started, mostly.

They're all disheartened, understandably so — they were basically just thrown out of the church, which was arguably the most important thing in any of their lives. But, at the same time, there's something lighter about the air. It's as though a huge pressure has been lifted from their shoulders now that all expectations and judgement are suddenly gone.

Connor's not sure he's ever felt this free from judgement before.

"So, things have changed now," Elder Cunningham says finally into the quiet, muggy room. Connor might once have been tempted rolled his eyes at the annoyingly obvious statement, but _something_ needed to be said and this apparently does the trick — somehow, Elder Cunningham always knows what will appease the masses. The other elders nod and murmur their agreement.

"So what does that mean?" Elder Church asks quietly. "What do we _do_ , how can we fix this? _"_

Connor feels like he should say something, make everyone feel better somehow, but his usual stream of motivational comments and helpful advice seems to have dried up. "I have no idea what we do next," he admits after a few seconds of blankly shaking his head. "I guess we're staying, but— but I don't know where we go from here. I guess … we'll have to figure it out as we go?"

There are more murmurs now, this time less positive. Connor swears he hears someone whisper that the entire situation is a disaster.

"But, but this could be good!" Elder Cunningham says loudly over the others. His optimism seems infallible. "Because our rules can change now too, guys. Not all of them — I mean, I don't think we should swear excessively, or talk badly about Heavenly Father, obviously, because that's not cool … But as for things like having a strict curfew, and drinking coffee, and … oh! The _temple garments_."

"It is _way_ too hot for temple garments," Elder Neeley agrees immediately.

"Right?" Elder Cunningham grins contentedly for a moment, then remembers that he was making a point and jolts back into his speech. "But anyway. I really don't think anything bad will happen if we let a few of those things slide now. I mean, who here is going to care, you know?"

The elders frown at him, then slowly turn toward Connor, unconsciously seeking the approval of the district leader as though he hasn't just had all of his legitimate authority stripped away by a thoroughly unimpressed mission president. He shrugs halfheartedly. For so long, he's had nothing but the rules to keep him grounded, but even he has to admit things seem to be going better here — for their mission, at least, if not their reputations and personal confidence levels — without them.

"If we haven't been struck down by Heavenly fire yet, I hardly think a few cups of coffee are going to push us over the edge," he allows. It's a testament to how long they've all been suppressed that the other elders actually cheer at this small concession. Connor holds up a hand, and they fall silent again, waiting for the caveat. "But let's not get carried away. We are staying because we genuinely want to make a difference, after all. We can't let this newfound freedom get in our way."

"Oh, of course not," Elder Poptarts agrees, ever the faithful companion. But he's almost drowned out by the excited murmur of teenage boys suddenly plotting strategic and totally inconsequential ways to rebel against the authority that has already written them off as failures anyway.

Connor finds it hard to share their enthusiasm in the wake of their excommunication. He doesn't feel especially guilty about the … _colorful_ way things this afternoon had gone down, per se, but there's something inexplicably formidable about the fact that the salvation — or damnation — of an entire town now rests solely on his shoulders. Before, there was a safety net — other Mormons, ones who actually knew what they were doing, who could be contacted in case of emergency for advice, at least. Now, there's no one to save the villagers but their little group of missionaries, and while he's grown to trust his friends over the course of their mission, he really isn't sure they're up to this challenge. Or that he is, for that matter.

Plus he's just really, really tired and he doesn't actually want to talk to anybody right now. He wants to curl up and sleep, far away from other people so he can suffer in peace. Or tap, but there's nowhere in this godforsaken place that actually has hard enough floors to get that satisfying clicking that really makes him feel better.

He notices absently that K— that Elder Price has remained uncharacteristically quiet as well, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest staring vaguely into space. Connor knows the other boy has been through a roller coaster of experiences and emotions these past few days, most of them decidedly negative and in direct conflict with his previously-held world views. As the leader of the group, it's his duty to make sure he's holding up okay. But before he can work up the nerve to approach him and ask what's wrong, the conversation in the room dwindles and the elders all start to stand up and shuffle off to their rooms.

Connor checks his watch — it's only 10:17, seventeen minutes past bedtime. He almost laughs at their lack of commitment — maybe real, inspired insubordination is something they'll have to work up to, then.

He watches as the elders trickle past, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and newfound determination. He doesn't like to go to bed until they're all in their rooms — not because he doesn't trust them or anything like that, but just because, as the district leader, he feels better knowing for sure that they're all safe where they belong. Elder Cunningham, who is the slowest to get up from the floor and the last to leave the room as a result, pauses in the doorway and looks back at Connor.

"You know," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "the rule about— the rule about the, you know, _gay stuff_ … that doesn't necessarily have to stay, either."

"I— You don't— What?" Connor stammers, caught off guard. He has no idea why on earth Elder Cunningham would bring up that particular subject. He only remembers mentioning anything remotely gay _maybe_ once around the other elders, and anyway, he's successfully turned all of that off, which makes this conversation _completely_ unnecessary. Because he's straight now. Obviously. He slides down in his seat a little, face burning.

Elder Cunningham, struck by the need to clarify, rambles on. "I don't really know anything about it, of course. I mean, _I'm_ obviously not gay. I'm actually very happy with Niagara, which is great. But that doesn't mean …" He shrugs. "I don't mean this in a bad way, but maybe the Church could be, you know, wrong about this?"

"Um?"

Elder Cunningham takes a deep breath, while Connor struggles to get any air at all. "Things change, you know?" he continues. "Our understanding of what people need … There are even people who think Luke Skywalker is gay, now that the EU's been thrown out. And if it's good enough for George Lucas …"

"That's totally relevant," Conner babbles nervously, slumping back further into his chair. "Thank you for that."

Elder Cunningham frowns, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, Elder McKinley. All I'm trying to say is … whatever you're feeling, it's not wrong, and we would be really _, really_ mean to keep treating it like it is. And I thought, maybe the hell dreams would go away if you didn't feel so guilty—"

"Wait, what?" Connor interrupts. He _definitely_ hadn't mentioned how much those were bothering him. It's his job as district leader to appear calm, collected, and ready to face the day's problems with a well-rested mind. His recurring nightmares would _not_ contribute to that image.

"Oh, yeah. Um, so, we … we can kind of hear you," Elder Cunningham says with a grimace. "Yelling. When you wake up from the bad ones."

 _Fuck_ , Connor thinks, but can't bring himself to say that out loud quite yet, so he just whispers a quiet _oh_ instead.

"I just thought you would sleep better if I told you you weren't committing a horrible sin just for being yourself," Elder Cunningham finishes, starting slowly down the hall. "I don't know. You can think it over, though. No pressure."

He gives Connor one last worried look, waves goodnight, and disappears into his room.

Connor stares blankly after him, struck by the sudden urge to laugh hysterically. He doesn't. A broken little sob bubbles up instead, but he forces it away, because he's not sad, just tired, and things will be better in the morning. A latter day.

* * *

Connor had every intention of going to bed, he really did, but he ends up zoning out curled in the chair without ever really slipping off into sleep. The con of this is that he's no more well-rested than before — but the pro is no hell dreams, so there's that. He jolts back into awareness what must be hours later, because the kitchen light flicks on and someone is walking around.

He stumbles to the doorway in time to see Elder Price pull a ziplock bag filled with coffee powder from under the toaster and add it to the tea kettle. He feels like he should say something, reprimand him somehow, but there is so much wrong with this method that he wouldn't know where to start. Plus, coffee is apparently allowed now anyway, so he just stands there with his mouth open. _Catching flies_ , as his dad would say.

He shakes himself. He doesn't like to think about things like that.

"You looked uncomfortable," Elder Price murmurs without turning around. "I was going to wake you up, but you've seemed so tired lately…"

"I wasn't sleeping," Connor says immediately. "Just … drowsing." Then he frowns. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"Couldn't sleep," Elder Price says. "Crazy day and all."

Now Connor has something he can scold. "You certainly won't get back to sleep if you drink all that coffee. Coffee has caffeine, which—"

"Which keeps you up, I know." Pouring a mug for himself and coming to sit at the table, Kevin bites his lip. "Honestly, that's kind of the point."

"Hell dreams?" Connor asks. He sympathizes.

"Sort of. I mean, yeah. Of course."

He doesn't sound certain, though. He hesitates, and when he does answer, his voice wavers — like he's lying. Connor has to ask; he knows he won't be able to move on until he does. He sits down next to him at the table and tries to meet his eyes, although that's easier said than done.

"Elder Price, is there … is there something wrong?"

He feels almost silly for asking — of course there's nothing wrong with _Elder Price_ , the smartest, most devout Mormon to ever pass through the halls of a Mission Control Center. The guy is perfect. He's heard so much about all the things Elder Price has done right, and he'd probably resent him if he wasn't secretly … um, impressed. But Kevin's face is pale, and his eyes are dark, and he doesn't answer right away.

"You can probably call me Kevin now," he says slowly, after taking several sips of steaming coffee and tapping his fingers restlessly against the table for a while. "Since we're not really elders anymore." Then he makes an uncomfortable expression and shrugs self-consciously. "Not if you don't want to, of course. Is that weird? I just … I'm just getting a little lonely here, I guess." It's both an explanation for his request and an answer to the question.

"Lonely?" Connor asks. Sharing a small hut with nine other boys, including his virtual shadow Elder Cunningham? "Really?"

"I don't know," Kevin says with a kind of high-pitched laugh. It is not a normal sound, and Connor frowns at him. "I just miss my family, I guess. Being able to, um, talk to people? Or something."

"Well, you can always talk to us, silly. We're here for each other, including you."

Connor bumps him his shoulder gently into Kevin's, trying to get him to smile or at least relax a little. Instead, Kevin flinches away, trying to cover the cringe with a stretch and a very fake cough. Connor isn't fooled, and he respectfully scoots back.

"I really mean it," Connor says, once he recovers from the shock of eliciting such a response. That hasn't happened to him in quite a while, not since he's started turning things off, and he's not quite sure how to interpret the movement in this new context. "You can talk to me about anything."

Kevin forces a grin. Connor can tell it's not natural, but it doesn't look totally miserable, either. It certainly doesn't look disgusted or anything. Connor's breathing comes a little easier.

"Thanks, Elder McKinley."

"Connor," Connor tells him. "It's Connor."

Now Kevin really does smile for real. And immediately, Connor wishes he hadn't. A strange burning sensation starts somewhere in his stomach, and suddenly he's nauseous, and he knows what this is and he doesn't want it, can't. _Turn it off._

He stands quickly.

"So, um, I'm going to go to bed," he says. Then he mentally kicks himself, because Kevin's face falls — almost imperceptibly, but he notices. He bites his lip. "Unless there's something you wanted to talk about now?"

"Uh, nope!" Kevin says brightly, and suddenly the fake smile is back in full force. "Everything's great. Have a nice sleep, Elder McKinley."

Connor knows he's holding something back, and thinks he might be upset because he's back to using his last name. But he also doesn't know what to do, so he waves halfheartedly and turns away.

He thinks he hears Kevin softly whisper his name as he heads down the hall. Maybe it's wishful thinking … but somehow, he doesn't think so. _Connor_ — he's never liked it as much as he does in this moment.

He's never going to be able to sleep tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

By some miracle — or maybe out of necessity, because he was close to passing out during the day and it was getting really hard to function — Connor does start to sleep better after his talk with Elder Cunningham.

The hell dreams don't stop abruptly, as a part of him had hoped they would. Realistically, though, it does make sense that nineteen years of internalized homophobia wouldn't go away just because a single person briefly tried to validate his feelings. But the nightmares do start to shift into something less painful, even if they do become somewhat more … awkward. Sometimes, after waking abruptly, he even manages to fall back into unconsciousness for a few more hours before everyone gets up to start the day.

He is rarely forced to confront the Devil himself anymore, deep in his shadowy lair of medieval torture and desperation. For this, Connor is infinitely grateful. The two have become far too well acquainted — Satan has learned, over the course of thousands of nearly-identical nights, just how to push at his jagged edges to get him to crack further.

 _What do you want to do to him, Connor? What would you do to any of them if you had the chance?_ That voice is soft and velvety as it whispers suggestions, and in a way, that's worse than if it were rough and coarse. The things it says almost sound … well, they still sound wrong. But less wrong. More like drinking coffee than killing someone or renouncing the Lord.

Sometimes, when Connor's breath hitches or he squirms, Satan raises an eyebrow and leers at him dangerously. _Would you rather_ they _did things to_ you _, boy? Can you imagine that? What it would feel like?_

No. Yes. Of course not. Honestly, Connor has no idea anymore. He does know he doesn't want Satan to touch him, though — either with that angry knife thing he's been eyeing up as he runs his fingertips along Connor's cheekbones, or with something far worse. A lot of the time Connor really doesn't want to be touched by anyone anymore.

Sometimes he wonders if he's still stubbornly gay or if this pale, empty existence is simply what it's like to become straight Or, maybe, he's now something that's neither, something that's even more broken.

He never has time to ponder this very long, though, because Satan gets antsy when without a weapon for too long and then everything hurts again and he can't think about anything else. More often than not he jolts awake when it becomes too much to bear, sweating and panting and, apparently, audibly yelling. He really doesn't feel like he deserves this. _Don't you?_ He tries his best, makes conscious decisions not to sin every single day. Is this really the best way to deal with this, to make him—

Yes. No. Could anyone really know?

But now he's rarely tortured anymore, thank Heavenly Father, at least not in the same way. He hasn't been back to that dingy, echoing dungeon in a few days, hasn't seen the threatening glint of antique weaponry or heard the heavy footfalls of Satan stomping down the stone corridor. Instead, he finds himself in in a simple, empty room most nights, usually alone, at least for the start.

Yes, at first he's alone, and for a moment, he allows himself to relax. That's usually when Kev- when Elder Price shows up.

Except it's not Elder Price — not really.

This creature has the same perfectly-slicked hair, the same sculpted body beneath the starched white shirt and pants that … okay, those are definitely tighter than they are in real life. There are other subtle differences as well. His eyes gleam brightly with undisguised malice, his mouth twists cruelly, and his eyebrows, so expressive on the real boy, never seem to move. The effect is a flat, unfeeling caricature that fills Connor with … well, feelings he can't really explain.

Worse still, the Not-Elder Price likes to get close to him — like, really close. Connor can feel little puffs of air at his neck, fingers ghosting over his arms, deceptively gentle. He struggles not to lean into it, because he doesn't want this, he _can't,_ but he usually fails.

And this time, Connor can't even honestly say he's completely dreading whatever comes next.

Still, he usually closes his eyes at this point, and tries not to think about why this particular Mormon is haunting his dreams — but he can feel the sharp fingernails raking across his skin and the teeth scraping against his throat, and the Not-Elder Price's hot breath across his cheek as he whispers _look at me_ and lowers his weight onto him completely. He still jolts awake in shock from the contact — but at least the sounds he's making this time aren't panicked screams. (They might be harder to explain if the others hear him, though.)

He's never quite able to make the call as to whether the Not-Elder Price or Satan is actually the worse nighttime visitor, but he sometimes gets a vague feeling that the former might turn out to be more uncomfortable in the end. He could always escape Satan by waking up; now, he's not so lucky.

Honestly, though, he's just glad to be past the weird intermediate period — nights where he was stripped and held over flames and lashed with the whiplike tails of angry demons, all while the other elders stood by and watched. Elder Price was always at the front of that group, too, and he always had this blank, contemplative look on his face. At least there's less outright pain (and nudity, praise the Lord) involved now, and with the cold expressions this new apparition makes, Connor can cognitively separate it from the real Kevin Price that he has to face every day.

Not that this separation usually stops him from responding in the dream.

 _Are you really so repressed that any kind of affection, even_ that _, from_ him, _is appealing to you?_ he asks himself desperately when he wakes up.

Apparently, the answer is yes. Connor isn't sure what that means, or what to do about it, so he changes his boxers and avoids Elder Price as much as politely, humanly possible. He pretends that he has everything completely, totally under control — like a leader. Like a good Mormon. Like someone who isn't slowly developing a weird, sinful attraction to one of the boys he's meant to be _protecting_ , a boy who is already clearly uncomfortable in this place, who gets less sleep than Connor does, and who can't completely hide the fact that being around other people sometimes leaves him pale and shaking. He won't be the person who makes this — whatever _this_ is — worse, who pushes Elder Price over the edge and causes him to flee to somewhere safer. Whatever else Connor's struggling with, he knows this: he needs Elder Price to _stay._

Desperate to keep his new problem from ever coming to light, he quickly finds that the saying _fake it till you make it_ has more merit than he previously thought. In the end, no one — _no one_ — is better at acting than Connor McKinley, after all. So life goes on, and for a few days, he can almost pretend that everything is actually getting better.

* * *

One thing that actually does get better is that Connor sleeps now, at least some. And with his improved quality of rest comes a new alertness he hadn't known he was missing, along with an increased awareness of how the other elders are coping with their new reality. He's not exactly thrilled with what he observes — without strict rules, the elders descend quickly into disordered, almost-laughable chaos. But no one is doing anything bad enough for a serious reprimand, either, and he feels that it's important to keep morale high at a time like this. So he refrains from lecturing them as much as he can, and tries to lead by example.

Elder Cunningham — their new, self-proclaimed "prophet," who's taken on such a mythical aura that Connor can't even scold him anymore without feeling sacrilegious — has taken to disappearing on long, unchaperoned adventures with Nabulungi. Elder Schrader writes home at least once a day, refusing to take a break to wait for a response or even for the earlier letters to be properly mailed, motivated by both fear that his parents will be horrified by his actions and confidence that they'll forgive him anyway. Elder Zelder found a tiny chameleon just 500 feet from their hut, and is (unsuccessfully) trying to teach the reptile to fetch, much to the bemusement of Nabulungi. Elder Davis is attempting (much more successfully) to teach the village children "yo mama" jokes. And K- Elder Price is avoiding his parents' phone calls. It takes Connor a few days to realize, but once he does he's astounded he didn't see if before.

He doesn't say outright that he doesn't want to talk to them. In fact, on the somewhat rare occasions that he talks with the others, he seems without fail to express how much he misses his family, misses home in general.

But when they call, he's inevitably busy. Sometimes he's just a few feet down the road on the way to the market, as though he left when he heard the phone ring. Sometimes he's in the bathroom, or praying with a new convert, or running with a pair of pants he just spilled a spoonful of sauce on to the river to rinse them out. Once he even managed to get stuck in a tree, and told Elder Neeley to promise his parents he'd call back as soon as he figured out how to detach his shirt from the branch.

He never did. Call back, that is. Not that Connor was watching, or staring at the sliver of skin that appeared thanks to the absence of temple garments, but he did happen to notice.

All the while, Elder Price continues to grow paler despite the bright Ugandan sun, and though Connor fills his plate a little higher than the others at mealtime, he seems to be losing weight, too. Maybe it's just the change of environment, the shift from a lavish American diet. Not everyone immediately feels at home during their first mission.

But somehow, Connor thinks it's something deeper, something darker than that. As district leader, it's his job to find out what it is. But, more than that — he wants to help because he wants to see Elder Price smile again, wants to see him connecting with the other elders and enjoying his time here. He wants this tension to go away, and he wants it to happen soon.

He corners Elder Price in his room one afternoon, moments after an unanswered phone call that he just hadn't seemed to hear. "I thought you missed your family," he says upon entering. "I thought you couldn't wait to talk to them."

(He doesn't waste much time on pleasantries, not because he's frustrated with Elder Price, but because he's worried what he might accidentally say if he gets too friendly these days.)

"I do," Elder Price says shortly, almost sharply. He lays back on his bed and casually arranges an arm over his face.

Connor throws up his hands helplessly, despite the fact that Elder Price can't see him. "So why won't you answer the phone when they call?"

Elder Price remains silent and still.

"Look, I picked up when your mom called yesterday," Connor says gently, sitting down on the corner of the bed. It only takes a split second for Elder Price to sit up and lean away, curling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees.

"Oh," he says after a moment, trying way too hard to speak in a calm tone and achieving something flat and robotic instead.

"She was scared something is wrong," Connor tells him, frowning at his behavior but not commenting on it. "She didn't even mention the whole excommunication thing, if that's what you're afraid of. Maybe you expect your parents to be angry — I know a lot of us did — but that shouldn't stop you from reaching out." He smiles nervously — his own parents certainly hadn't been thrilled, but putting off their conversation definitely wouldn't have helped. "You're going to have to eventually."

He has his "district leader" voice on now, the authoritative tone he uses when he has to say something he knows the others don't necessarily want to hear. He's not trying to be impersonal right now, though. He just really, _really_ needs Elder Price to listen.

But once again, Elder Price doesn't speak, and there's no way to know if he's hearing what Connor is saying.

So he keeps going, because he's sure he's capable of eventually persuading Elder Price to see some sense. His ability to relate to people is one of the reasons he was chosen for district leader in the first place. "I know it's hard to face what's happened — that you weren't the Super Mormon everybody thought you'd be. Maybe that's partially on me — I should never have treated you like your only purpose here was to singlehandedly turn the mission around. But—"

"Don't you ever wonder _why_ I find you people hard to talk to?"

Connor's mouth shuts with a snap. Elder Price's voice is almost angry, and his eyes are suddenly filled with something dark. He glares at Connor as he sits curled on the bed, waiting for him to answer.

Connor thinks about it for a moment, and he realizes that he hadn't, really — he'd just assumed that Elder Price was used to better friends and better accommodations and conversations with people who understood who he was and where he came from. He'd figured that Elder Price would be able to talk to them once he overcame these expectations and realized that they were his only option … but suddenly, he's not so sure. Should the elders have been doing something differently, made an effort to seem more welcoming?

"Um …"

"It's because you all think I'm some insufferable, egotistical narcissist who's convinced I can't do anything wrong. I can _tell_ you don't like me, you know. It's really— I can just tell."

Connor gasps. "Elder Price, we don't think that at all!" Maybe they think he _acts_ that way, sometimes. But the real Elder Price, under his bravado — the boy who sits with the village children and reads them stories long after his voice has gone hoarse, who volunteers to take the annoying, strenuous maintenance jobs here at the hut so the others can go out and preach and get the glory of a new convert themselves — is selfless, caring, and, humble. Connor sees this easily now, and he'd assumed that the other missionaries do too.

"Really?" Elder Price scoffs. "' _Super Mormon_ '?"

Connor shakes his head. He had never intended that to be taken as an insult. "I only meant that— when you came here, you were so—"

"I know," Elder Price says. " Trust me. I was a real dick."

"No!" Connor doesn't really know what he's trying to say, but he is sure he's not capable of calling Kevin Price something so uncomplimentary. Sure, there were _moments_ in the beginning where he was annoyed by his self-assured personality, but only because he was pretty much jealous of the other boy's ability to appreciate himself. "Elder Price, you were— you were so confident, I guess. And now you're … well, you're really not."

Elder Price slumps a little on the pillows, though he keeps his knees clasped to his chest. Connor doesn't know what he expects to happen next — that he'll admit what's bothering him? That he'll scoff at Connor's concern and send him away?

Instead, he bites his lip a little and says softly, "I thought I asked you to call me Kevin."

"Kevin," Connor says immediately, and then he says it again, because while he's been forcing distance between them by calling him "Elder Price," this feels so much more natural. It feels … nice.

"Yes, Connor?"

Connor blinks — he hadn't really had a conversation in mind when he said his name. Also, Kevin's posture is more relaxed suddenly, and they're sitting closer on the bed — so Connor is finding it a little hard to concentrate.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" he asks finally. Might as well finish what he came in here to do. "Maybe it will help."

"Why are you so sure something's wrong?" Kevin asks. Hesitantly, like he doesn't want to know the answer.

"You don't seem happy anymore." Connor shrugs. "I can tell you're suffering here, and if there's anything we can do to make this better …" He doesn't know how else to offer his support, but hopefully Kevin gets the point.

Kevin sighs a little, like he's thinking it over. While he does, Connor makes a point of not pressuring him by staring at him — instead, he looks around the room, trying to make Kevin as comfortable as he can.

He hasn't really been in here since Kevin and Elder Cunningham moved in, and as he studies the small space around the two tiny beds, he can tell that not much has changed. With their suitcases stolen upon arrival, they hadn't really held onto much to fill up the space. There are now two threadbare quilts draped on the bottom half of the beds. A few unmatched socks lay on the floor. And there, in a ziplock bag stuffed under the rickety nightstand—

"Is that your Book of Mormon? On the ground?"

Connor isn't mad, even though that's definitely disrespectful and probably against the rules. He thinks it's kind of funny, actually, given everything that's happened here. But the change in Kevin is instantaneous and scary. He stiffens again, and his expression turns dark and angry.

"Okay," he says in a low, dangerous voice. "Okay. You want to talk? You think I'm _suffering_?"

Connor squints at him, confused by the sudden shift in the mood. "I—"

"What do you know about suffering?" he snaps. "So you're different — so you're gay — well there are plenty of gay Mormons, and they're doing _fine_. There are gay Mormons featured on the Church _website."_ His voice is harsher than Connor's ever heard it before, and it's enough to send chills dancing down his spine. _"_ Stop being so dramatic about it."

Connor unconsciously moves backward, and suddenly he's standing several feet away from the bed. Where in the world did that come from? "I don't know what you're—"

Kevin sneers at him, and Connor wants to collapse at the bitterness pouring off of him in waves. "Still turning it off, then? How's that working out for you?" He laughs, a cold, terrible sound. "Because it sure as hell isn't working for me."

It feels like there's something in Connor's throat, he can barely talk, but he feels like he has to try. People lash out when they're angry, and he _knows_ there's a reason Kevin is angry now, even if he refuses to tell him. What Kevin said was unexpected, and it was horrible, but it just means that he's hiding something worse.

"What … what are you trying to turn off?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Kevin hisses.

Connor can't take this anymore. He stands, frozen in place, not quite looking at Kevin but not quite able to leave, either. Even though Uganda is full of bugs and heat and disease and angry warlords, he's somehow been treated with nothing but respect since he got here. He's started to believe that he deserves better.

Apparently it's not so hard to revert back into his old, fragile self.

"Are you _crying?"_ Kevin asks incredulously, a note of regret in his voice.

"No," Connor sniffs, turning away. He can't believe himself. Next his nose will get all runny, then his face will turn bright red, and then everyone will know, for the rest of the day, that he's broken down. He is such a— God, why does he _do_ this?

"You are," Kevin says quietly, reaching out but stopping short of contact. "Elder McKinley — Connor — I— I didn't—"

Connor steps further away. It takes him only a moment to catch his breath.

"My parents made sure I was sent to one of the most homophobic places on the planet, and I still, after all this time, can't quite reason out if it was meant to help me or just get rid of me for good." He says this in a rush as soon as he can, without turning around. "You're not the only one going through something here, Elder Price." Then he leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

He almost swears he hears a quiet sob from the other side before he retreats down the hall to his room.


End file.
